


I Don't Care If I Never Get Back

by Telesilla



Series: Baseball's In Your Blood [7]
Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Baseball, Dugout Sex, M/M, San Francisco Giants, Vampire Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 18:25:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11697336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telesilla/pseuds/Telesilla
Summary: "I want you to ride me," Tim says, settling back on the dugout bench.Tim does this risky, not quite public, sex thing once in a while and Buster's not sure when he went from, "oh hell no" to "convince me" to "yeah okay" to "please now yes."





	I Don't Care If I Never Get Back

"I want you to ride me," Tim says, settling back on the dugout bench. 

Tim does this risky, not quite public, sex thing once in a while and Buster's not sure when he went from, "oh hell no" to "convince me" to "yeah okay" to "please now yes." Something about Tim's assumption that he can do anything he wants has rubbed off on him and Buster isn't always sure that's a good thing. 

But still, it's the dugout--Buster's dugout. Maybe the whole park belongs to Tim, but the dugout is the players' space and Tim rarely spends time there. 

Then again, it's two in the morning and no one's around, not even Security. Everyone in the city knows Lincecum likes to hang around the ballpark in the small hours of the night, to the point where there have been cartoons of him brooding at the plate or or out in the bleachers in center. There was even that one GQ shoot--Tim, slim and elegant in designer clothes against the shadowed backdrop of the park at night. 

There are no cartoons and certainly no photo shoots of him fucking his Companion in various places in the ballpark, however, and Buster would very much like to keep it that way. They're safe enough, he reminds himself. No one, thief or paparazzi, would dare invade Tim Lincecum's territory; he's his own best security. 

"Too close to home?" Tim asks, breaking up Buster's train of thought. He's gotten better at not asking for things that would carry over to the actual game, but before Buster can answer, he adds, "we could do it in the visitor's dugout." A pause. "Of course, I might have to call you 'Yadi.'"

"One," Buster says, biting the inside of his cheek. He tries to sound as serious as possible. "I'd safeword before you got to the second syllable of his name. Two," he adds. "Yadier Molina? Really?"

"No, not really," Tim says. "Although, I seem to have a fondness for catchers with big thighs."

"You're goading me," Buster says. "You're hoping I'll say something along the lines of...."

"Of?" Tim asks when Buster doesn't finish his sentence. 

"I'll show you big thighs," Buster says, his hands busy with his belt buckle. "Or maybe, 'I got your big thighs right here."

"I'd prefer them over here," Tim says. "Buster, you know I can hear you rolling your eyes."

"No you can't." Buster leaves his jeans hanging around his hips and bends down to take his shoes off. "And anyway, I would never ever roll my eyes at my Lord." 

He's using it in the traditional, vampiric, way, not some kind of kinky thing, but still Tim snorts. "I hate it when you call me that."

"Why do you think I..." Buster begins.

"...do it," Tim interrupts.

The familiar exchange completed, Buster lets his jeans fall to the ground--and thank God the dugout floor's are swept and then washed clean after the game, because...ew. He pulls his t-shirt off and then his socks; risky sex or not, he doesn't need Tim seeing him look like someone from a cheap porno. And Tim can see him, even though to Buster's eyes, Tim's only a thin, pale, vaguely person shaped, form on the bench. Buster stands still for a moment. Even after all this time, it still a little weird that Tim often wants to just look at him naked before they have sex. Buster loves men and he loves dick, but he still thinks a naked dude just standing there with a hardon looks stupid. 

"You don't look stupid," Tim murmurs. His voice is husky, low, and just slurred enough that Buster knows his fangs are out. 

And that is why he'll stand there as long as Tim wants him to. No one else can make Tim hungry like this--only the thought of Buster's blood moving through his veins does it. Tim wants Buster in a way no one else does or can. Or ever will. Buster shoves that thought away almost instantly. Not now, he thinks.

"Amazing, yes," Tom says and if he felt whatever was going on in Buster's mind, he doesn't acknowledge it. "Hot, certainly. Determined, yeah. Stupid, no."

Determined, Buster thinks and, ironically enough, the word gives him pause. He called Tim on the goading thing because Tim was being super obvious, but Buster's not sure if he's responding to Tim's more unspoken dare or not. 

Tomorrow, he thinks. The Cards, he thinks. Ignoring Tim for a moment, he turns and looks toward home plate. Panik at bat, Belt on deck and Posey in the hole watching to see what Waino's got tonight. Posey on deck...Posey at bat...all under the watchful, intense, almost tangible, gaze of the team's owner. 

"Yeah," he says, more to himself although he knows Tim can hear him. "I can do this."

"Good," Tim says, his voice firmer and more sure. "Now get those thick thighs over here."

As Buster straddles Tim and Tim slicks him up, Buster feels thick all over--looming over Tim like this. Tim never seems to mind, though, and why should he? It's not like Tim has to worry about Buster getting toppy. Not like he can't get away from Buster if Buster were stupid enough to try anything.

Buster slides his knees further apart, the shiver running down his spine only partially caused by the feel of Tim's fingers inside him. 

"Ready," he says, catching his breath as Tim twists his fingers one more time. "C'mon, Tim...now?"

"Pushy," Tim says. He grips Buster's hip, effortlessly holding him in place with one hand. 

"This was your idea," Buster says. He's not sure why he's trying to sound cool and collected; Tim can hear his heartbeat pounding in his chest, can sense the rush of blood in his veins. 

"I can tell you're just indulging me," Tim says, glancing down at Buster's dick.

"Tim...."

"Yes?" Tim digs his fingers harder into Buster's hip. 

There are times when Buster wants to drag this out a little--make Tim work for it. This, however, isn't one of those times. "Please?" He squirms as much as he can. "Please, Tim...want you...need you, please?"

Tim doesn't seem to want to tease either. He doesn't loosen his grip on Buster's hip, but he stops holding Buster in place. "Yeah," he says, as Buster slowly sinks down on his cock. "Oh yeah...." 

Buster didn't really give Tim enough time for prep and he's panting hard by the time he settles on Tim's lap. It's good though. He likes the slow burn and stretch, and the way Tim catches his breath each time Buster moves. 

"Lean in," Tim says, pressing his lips to Buster's neck when Buster obeys. "Hungry all the time...want you all the time," he murmurs, and maybe it's been seven years, but the feel of his mouth moving against Buster's skin still feels almost unbearably intimate. 

"Please," Buster says, not caring that he sounds needy and desperate. "Please please please....?"

"I'm feeling lazy," Tim says, barely lifting his head. "You do the work."

It's not easy--the bench wasn't exactly intended for fucking--but Buster reaches out and rests his hands on the ledge behind Tim's shoulders. For an absurd moment, he thinks of it littered with coolers and gear and seeds and buckets of gum, and all he can think is, what the fuck are we doing?

"Buster?" Tim loosens his grip on Buster's hip, stroking instead of gripping. "You all right?"

"Yeah," Buster says after another moment. And he is, he thinks. Anyway, lots of guys want to have sex in the dugout, but he's the lucky one who can. "Yeah," he says again. He lifts a little and when he moves back down, Tim slides his hand down along the outside of his thighs. Buster can't help laughing. "Catchers with thick thighs...."

"Mmmmm," Tim murmurs as Buster starts moving, nice and slow and easy. "You're the only thick catcher I want."

"Good," Buster says, his fingers tightening on the ledge. Only me, he thinks. And only Tim. The thought gets to him and he starts moving a little faster. Tim's dick is perfect, his hands on Buster are perfect, and this is what Buster wants. What he always wants. Even if Tim weren't radiating heat like a furnace, Buster wouldn't notice the cold of AT&T Park in the middle of the night; all he knows is that Tim's fucking him and it's....

"So fucking...perfect," he manages to say. "God...Tim...."

"Yeah...oh yeah...." Tim groans. He's moving now, fucking up into Buster as Buster moves over him and Buster can't imagine not wanting this. "You're so...God, Buster."

There's always a point--usually when Buster's on the edge--when it's almost impossible to tell their wants apart. Not that Buster wants to bite Tim, but his need to give and Tim's need to take gets tangled up in his head until that's all he knows. When Buster finally murmurs, "please Tim...please...take it, please," it feels almost redundant, like he's been saying it for hours now. 

Finally--oh God finally--Tim pulls Buster down hard on his dick and holds him there. Positioning himself and then turning his head so Tim can get at his neck is almost automatic, but not quite. It takes a split second of conscious decision and that makes all the difference in the world. "Please...." Buster murmurs.

Sometimes Tim likes to bite so it hurts a little, but tonight when his fangs slice into Buster's neck, it's faint, a ghost of a sensation quickly replaced by the need to give Tim all the blood he needs, all the blood he wants. He's caught up in it as he sees the familiar red light behind his closed eyes, but the fear, while always present, is balanced by the knowledge of how much Tim needs him. He can feel it through their connection, the affinity between Vampire and Companion, not to mention in the way Tim's fingers dig into Buster's hips. "God," Buster moans. "Oh God...Tim...."

It doesn't take long and they're not doing some kind of scene where Tim wants Buster to hold back; when Buster's breath hitches, Tim growls against his skin and Buster thinks, yes, and yours, and comes hard. "Mine," Tim snarls, raising his mouth, but Buster's still too dazed to even notice when Tim comes.

Slumping down on Tim's lap, Buster flexes his hands and pulls them away from the ledge. He's still feeling the usual lassitude that comes over him after Tim feeds and he's happy to relax and let Tim wrap his arms around him.

"Stay...please," Tim murmurs, so low Buster barely hears him. For once, Buster's not getting anything through their connection and he wonders if Tim intended to speak at all or if he's even really in this century. It happens, even right after sex, and Buster's learned that it has nothing to do with him.

It's only later, after Tim snuck him out of the park--blurring the memory of a security guard--and they're settled in bed, that Buster remembers that soft "stay." When Tim gets lost in the past, Buster can't always tell what Tim's thinking about, but there's usually a hazy feel to their connection that Buster can't exactly define but recognizes. 

This wasn't like that, but it also wasn't like the times when Tim's been...well, for lack of a better phrase, politely absent, usually when one or both of them needs privacy. This time there was absolutely nothing, like maybe Tim didn't even want to think about what he was saying. Just like earlier when Buster didn't want to think about how no one other than Tim would ever....

Oh. 

"Later," he murmurs, half on the edge of sleep. "End of the season...ask me then."

Buster feels a quick jolt of _something_ from Tim but he's half asleep and anyway, the whole point is to not talk about this now. "Later," he mumbles again. Tim's hand comes to rest on the back of Buster's neck and stays there, a familiar, comforting, pressure that sends Buster down into sleep.

_-end-_

**Author's Note:**

> There was one of those first line memes going around on Tumblr and [Blastellanos](http://archiveofourown.org/users/blastellanos) prompted me with "I want you to ride me" for a pairing of my choice. This would be the result. :)


End file.
